


Home Again

by kgirl1



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Family, Family Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 17:49:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12612044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kgirl1/pseuds/kgirl1
Summary: Hera and Sabine, post-Flight of the Defender. “We just got you back, you know. I’m trying to keep you here for a while.” (Minor spoilers for season four, episode six.)





	Home Again

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone. First of all, thank you so much for all of your feedback on Room for One More (which I keep meaning to post here, but can be read on my fanfiction dot net profile, under the same name. I know some of you have been asking for updates, and I do appreciate you reaching out to tell me how much you love the story. I promise it's in the works, and I promise I won't abandon it. Life is just… busy. Here's something to fill the space between. It's in the same vein as "Trials," because Sabine is back, and you can never have too much Hera and Sabine. It's also in second person, because I'm trying something new. Let me know what you think!
> 
> (P.S. Thoughts on season four, anyone? I'm digging it. So much Kanera!)

 

Hera hasn't left Sabine's side since they returned to base, has barely taken her hand off the girl's arm. Now they've made it to Sabine's room, where Sabine's hoping to process the mission that has once again gone almost hilariously wrong but somehow ended as a success, in the way that only their missions can. They haven't stopped in the medbay, despite Hera's numerous suggestions, and the twi'lek is hesitant to leave her alone.

"You're sure you don't want me to run any tests," she says, for what might genuinely be the seventh time.

"If Ezra says the Loth-wolf was what knocked me out, then the Loth-wolf was what knocked me out," Sabine shrugs and plunks her helmet on a shelf. "I'm sure I'm fine."

"No scans for bruises?" Hera presses. "Concussions? Internal bleeding?"

Sabine shakes her head. "I feel fine."

"I know you  _feel_ fine—"

"Hera," Sabine chuckles and runs a hand through her hair. "You're starting to sound like a medical droid with its audio stuck on loop."

Hera blushes and clears her throat. "We just got you back, you know. I'm trying to keep you here for a while." Her tone is teasing, but there's something heavy lying beneath it.

"I promise I feel fine," Sabine assures her.

Hera nods, but doesn't leave her room, shifting from foot to foot.

"Hera," Sabine can't help but chuckle. "I'm okay. Really. I swear."

Hera's eyes travel over her once more, checking her from head to toe, and tell Sabine that she doesn't believe her. "You're absolutely sure?"

"Yes," Sabine nods emphatically and reaches down to take off her boots. "Sheesh. Where's the no-nonsense pilot that used to tell me to rub some dirt on it and keep my chin up?"

She's teasing, but the captain's reply is somber, and shifts the mood in the room.

"That Hera's lost a lot since then," she says quietly. Sabine looks up, boots forgotten, and sees Hera standing with her hands clasped and her eyes on the floor.

"Oh no, Hera, I didn't mean—" She stands up and spreads her hands, only to realize that she has nothing to offer.

"I— I'm sorry." Now she's whispering too, seeing her captain for the first time as a pane of glass, transparent and fragile. Sabine runs through the list in her mind: all of the missions Hera's led, all the pilots she's lost, Ahsoka, Old Jho, her mother, Kanan's sight, Sabine herself—

Suddenly there's a lump in her throat, and she reaches out to Hera again, but can't think of anything to say. By now Hera's caught herself, and her mask has slid back in place. She gives Sabine a watery smile and turns to go.

"I'm just glad you're both okay."

There's a forced lightness in her voice— Sabine knows that with a tight, businesslike nod, she'll be out of here, never to speak of it again, which is why something jumps in her lungs and says "Wait."

Hera stops, turns back.

"I…" Now it's on Sabine's tongue, the same thought she's had since coming back. She stares at Hera openly, her shoulder blades sinking down her back, anxiety pooling in her belly. Hera waits curiously.

"I…" Sabine's mouth is dry. She yanks the words from deep in her chest and pushes them out on her tongue.

"I'm sorry I left."

The words drop off her lips as her stomach drops into her knees, but Hera just crinkles her brow. She doesn't get it.

Which means Sabine will have to explain it to her.

"I mean, I'm sorry I left you guys. When I went back to my fam— to Mandalore," she catches herself. Now she's nervous, shaky. "I'm… I'm sorry."

Hera's eyes haven't shifted; she's listening intently. Sabine drops her head, waits for the captain to pass judgment. But the reply surprises her.

"Why are you sorry?"

Her voice is gentle, calm— which is more than Sabine deserves.

"Be—because I left," she says again, looking at Hera strangely, because she isn't the one who should have to explain this. "Because you took me in, and looked out for me, and practically raised me, all those years. Because you… you saved me, and all I did was take the Darksaber and leave." She feels tears spark her eyes and blinks hard against them. "Because you said you've lost a lot, and I'm one of those things. Because I'm selfish."

From the ways Hera's eyes soften, and her mouth curls with sympathy, Sabine already knows what she's going to say.

"You're not selfi—"

"Yes, I am!" The violence in Sabine's protest surprises both of them. "I crashed here until my family could accept me again, and the second they did, I went crawling back. I… I  _used_  you," she whispers, the tears threatening to overtake her eyes.

"Sabine." Hera's voice is both kind and firm. She guides Sabine, and they sit on the edge of her bed. It's a setting that's familiar to both by now, and that familiarity nearly brings a fresh wave of tears to the Mandalorian's eyes. Hera takes her hands and holds them tight.

"You know that we were happy to see you go back to your family," she says, slowly and emphatically, making sure Sabine knows she means every word. "So few of us have any family left at all. For you to be able to restore that bond… that brought a lot of people hope."

Sabine brings her arm up to wipe her eyes, but doesn't let go of her hand. "Don't make me a saint, Hera."

A wry smile touches Hera's lips. "And it's true that we love you, and we were sad to see you go, but Mandalore was where the galaxy needed you to be. Just like now, Lothal is where the galaxy needs Ezra to be. You may have left, but your reason for doing so wasn't selfish. Thanks to you, Mandalore actually has a chance of fighting against the Empire. Of being free."

Hera's smile is so sincere that Sabine almost can't meet her eyes.

"They couldn't have done that without your help," she adds, squeezing one of her hands.

Sabine dares to ask the next question even though she knows she might not like the answer.

"Is that how  _you_  really feel?" She asks. "Not the Rebellion, but you? Hera?"

Hera's smile fades, and she looks down at their hands with a sigh.

"Of course I missed you, Sabine," she says, admitting it like it's a shameful thing. "You're like a daughter to me."

Sabine's so touched by this sentiment, this thing that she's understood and hoped for but never heard voiced aloud, that she can't speak.

"But I was never angry at you for going. I never thought you were selfish, or anything else. All I could think of was how proud I was." Hera's eyes crinkle into a smile as she looks at Sabine.

"In fact, if anything…" Hera trails off, and her gaze goes to the floor, the smile fading. "I was angry at myself, for driving you away."

"What?" Now Sabine's so shocked that she can't  _not_  speak. "You thought you drove me away?"

Hera's smile is bitter. "You remember that fight we had. How I had to ask you to go. I felt awful."

"Hera—" Sabine can hardly believe her ears. "Hera, you're the reason I wanted to stay. My own mother  _terrified_  me. Frankly, she still does."

Sabine pauses, and they exchange an amused grin.

"But with you…" Sabine continues, speaking as the thoughts come to her, and the conversation falls solemn once again. "With you, I'm never scared, I'm… safe. I'm home. I'm not a Wren, not a Mandalorian warrior. I'm just… Sabine." She pauses.

"And what you said, about when a ship is on the ground, it's the safest it'll ever be?" She asks. "Well, that's how I felt here. How I feel here. That's why I needed you to push me to go."

Hera's looking at her with shining eyes, and the pride in her gaze takes Sabine's breath away.

"And just look what you've become," her captain murmurs, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind Sabine's ear. "I don't think you'll ever know how proud of you I am."

Sabine feels her cheeks turn red. "Did I ever tell you what really made me go?" She asks, hoping to change the subject. Hera shakes her head.

"I asked myself if you would do the same thing for Ryloth," Sabine says, and her shoulders straighten up. "I said, if Hera can do this, if Hera's willing to do something this hard for the rebellion, then I can too." She pauses, and gives Hera a shy glance from below her eyelids. "And… then I realized that you did."

It's Hera's turn to be speechless, touched beyond words, so Sabine just leans forward and wraps her arms around her.

Hera hugs her back, clinging tightly, and each relishes the embrace. As rarely as it came, they each have it memorized—the tickle of Sabine's hair on Hera's lekku; the warmth that always radiated from the twi'lek's core. Out of habit, Hera runs her hands down Sabine's side to make sure her ribs aren't protruding, and because she remembers this trick Sabine pulls back, and gives her a teasing grin.

"Sorry," Hera blushes. "Old habits die hard."

Sabine's smirk has become a genuine smile, and she hugs Hera one more ephemeral time.

Hera closes her eyes and breathes in Sabine's scent in hopes of memorizing it. She smells like she always has, of explosives and durasteel and spray paint, and it's not a sweet smell, but Hera would craft a candle out of it if she could.

"I missed you," Sabine whispers.

"I missed you too, love," Hera says, her eyes still closed, inhaling and imprinting the scent of her daughter. "I always will."


End file.
